


Cobalt

by destielavenger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abstract, Color, Dreams, M/M, Rated Mature for one non-descriptive sex scene, pointless rambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielavenger/pseuds/destielavenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he dreamed in colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cobalt

 

I have no idea what is going on. Honestly, I don't even know why I am posting this, but...here goes.  
Spoilers for season 8 episode 17 but not exactly life-ruining ones

 

* * *

 

Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he dreamed in colors.

Most of the time, he dreamed about Hell, black and grey, burnt yellows and greens and oranges, and the ugliest colors imaginable invading his mind and mouth and lungs until he woke up drowning in his memories and had to remind himself where he was and that he relatively safe from most things.

Sometimes he dreamed in black demon eyes, white spirits, red like the spilled blood of the people and things he’s killed. He dreamed in scarlet fire and dark grey sky. He dreamed of beige leather and the warm browns of Bobby’s wallpaper.

But many - so many now - of his dreams were blue. At first it was sky, and he was on the road and so intensely happy for once, like he was ten and his dad had just ruffled his hair and told him he had done a good job, and he woke up uneasy without knowing why. It got more prominent, adding new colors, deep espresso and silky cream. He dreamed of drowning in a deep blue lake, deeper than the space between the stars, and being rescued by a faceless man with skin so pale it was almost transparent. He dreamed of cobalt silk curtains and khaki deserts with charcoal suns. He knows, in the back of his mind, where the dreams will lead, and it terrifies him, but he doesn’t want to stop, and anything is better than going back to those horrible burning colors and ugly visions he dreamed in before.

Until one night, it goes too far, and it isn’t blue sky anymore, it’s blue eyes, and a pink mouth and long dark eyelashes way, way too much pale skin. It’s teasing and fulfilling, and Dean is panting and thrusting into the wet heat, the mouth that is and isn’t really Cas’s.

When he wakes up, it’s the middle of the night, and he stares up at the ceiling of the room for a very long time.

****

* * *

 

 

His dreams turn to nightmares again.

He dreamed of black goo, so dark it absorbed all light and everything that touched it. He dreamed of amber liquid in glass bottles, dreamed of dirty water and titanium sky. Of gravel.  He dreamed of white, so terrifyingly clinical and blank that it erased everything, until he felt that he would rather dream of Hell again, because at least that was _something_ and not endless blank _nothing_.

Leviathans chased him, wearing Cas and Sam and Bobby and Jo and everyone that he’d ever met and it was gold hair and puce throats and black blood. He dreamed of raven wings, of watching people drown and not being able to do a damn thing, and of ripped tan cloth in his hands. He’s sick of it. He hates it more than anything, hates it the most because it won’t stop, and his vision is tinged with color throughout the day like a disease behind his eyes.

And when he dreams of blue, it’s always slate or cornflower or ice or the rain coming down. There are no blue eyes.

He cannot dream of cobalt without it turning to tears.

****

* * *

 

****

His dreams are bruised purple and black are mauve, tinged with crimson blood around the edges of his fragmented perspective. This is what flashes behind his eyes as Cas hits him again, bluntly, and his face is throbbing, like his flesh wants to burst from his skin. He grabs on to a hand and sees that blue again, drowns in it, has drowned in it in sleep so many times, and speaks in almost a whimper.

When Cas leaves and he sleeps, he dreams of silver swords and _touch_ , and something inside of him burns and burns and will not stop.

And, gloriously, there is no color to it.

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cobalt [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/844972) by [BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn/pseuds/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn)




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